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Panic escalated in her voice, shone from her wide hazel eyes, and he recognised the signs of a person about to back out of a deal. ‘Gabby? Slow down. Listen to me. I really don’t think we’ll have a problem. I could probably get people to invest in our smoulder factor.’
‘You don’t understand...’
‘Maybe not. But I do understand this.’
Instinct took over and he twisted his chair to face her, angled himself into exactly the right position to lean forward and claim her lips.
A small gasp escaped her, and then without hesitation she pressed against him, her lips parted and her hands twined round his neck. Then he was lost, the last vestiges of common sense fled, and all he could think about was the moment, the vanilla scent of her hair that tickled his cheek with exquisite softness, the tang of citrus on her lips, the fierceness of his desire for her. For Gabby.
The intensity was too much—until the sound of laughter from a group of people as they sat down at a nearby table penetrated the fog, pulled him back to reality and the realisation that if they didn’t stop he wouldn’t be able to. Even so, pulling away was way harder than it should be, and the level of reluctance blared a klaxon of warning.
This was meant to be fake. The kiss was supposed to have been a tactical exercise to keep Gabby at the table, in the deal.
They sat for a moment and simply gazed at each other, until she gave a small half laugh followed by a muttered curse. ‘I don’t know what else to say. That was...’
‘Awesome?’
‘An awesome mistake.’
‘Why?’
‘Because neither of us wants to make this real.’ She touched her lips as if in wonder. ‘And that was real. A more important reality, though, is that you don’t want the complication of any sort of relationship with anyone, and I’m—’
‘Waiting for Mr Right.’
And she didn’t do temporary. Both absolutely excellent reasons why that kiss should never have happened. Gabby had made it more than clear that she didn’t want a purely physical relationship. She was holding out for the real thing. What her grandparents had had. What he knew he couldn’t offer. Hell, what he didn’t even want to offer. So...
‘You’re right. I shouldn’t have kissed you.’
Yet it was nigh on impossible for him to regret it.
‘Hey. There are two of us at the table. But it can’t happen again.’
‘You’re right. No more kisses.’ A nascent emotion that he knew to be regret surfaced and he pushed it down. ‘But we will have to play our parts, and that will necessitate a certain level of closeness.’ Heaven help him.
‘I understand that.’
Somehow he had to get this back on to a business footing, because right now—dammit—he wanted to kiss her again. Madness.
‘Then we’re good to go. You need to give me your bank details. This...arrangement...will continue until my sister’s wedding in three months, so I’ll pay you in three monthly instalments. I’ll also set out a schedule of our dates, starting with the charity event on Friday.’
Gabby clicked her pen again, the sound a signal of her relief at the turn of the conversation. ‘OK. Shall I meet you there?’
‘No. Seeing as the gala is in London, it will be easier and look better if you come to my flat before. You can get ready there and stay the night after. I have two spare rooms you can choose from, which will make it less awkward than our staying in a hotel—if that’s OK with you.’
The idea of Gabby in his apartment already felt heavy with awkward portent. The idea of any woman there filled him with unease; the idea of Gabby there gave him a severe case of the collywobbles.
And, although she nodded in agreement, the agitated click-click-click of her pen indicated that the collywobbles were mutual.
CHAPTER SIX
GABBY STOOD OUTSIDE the imposing block that overlooked the Thames—the whole edifice was ridiculously overwhelming. The thought of the combined worth of all the apartments made her eyes cross.
The butterflies that had occupied her tummy for the better part of the day swooped and dived. For most of the week she had toyed with the idea of backing out, all the while knowing she wouldn’t. She couldn’t walk away from the money for her grandmother’s sake, and wouldn’t renege on a deal for the sake of her own pride. Yet the knowledge that in a moment she would enter a penthouse apartment on the edge of the Thames, and would then attend a celebrity charity gala with Zander, felt madly surreal. Too much.
Her arm felt heavy as she buzzed for entry, then pushed the communal door open, entered the state-of-the-art lift and pressed the button for the sixth floor.
Seconds later the lift door opened and Zander stood outside, clad in jeans and a T-shirt, barefoot, his dark blonde hair shower-damp. Her heartbeat escalated.
